


The Apple

by townshend



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-13
Updated: 2011-03-13
Packaged: 2017-10-16 22:13:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/169899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apple takes up all of Altaïr's time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apple

It had been three hours.

If Malik had known any better, he would have hurried to find Altaïr, to see where he had gone, to make sure no danger had found him on his way. Unfortunately, Malik knew much better than he let on, and even worse, he wasn't even surprised.

The food had grown cold long ago, but Malik wrapped some in a thin cotton cloth and tied it up, deciding he'd make the walk up the hill and towards the Masyaf fortress. He knew already what he'd find in Al Mualim's study, but he may as well go see it for himself and leave dinner for when Altaïr finally realized just how hungry he was.

There were few out at this hour - by now, most were preparing for bed. A few guards hung about, but Malik knew them all and nodded to each as he passed. The fortress itself remained curiously unguarded, but Malik figured when Altaïr had such a weapon as he did, it really did not need any further protection.

Just stepping in the front door, Malik could see a golden glow lighting up the walls in a strange manner. He moved to the stairs and turned, grip tightening on the makeshift satchel. Altaïr was standing at Al Mualim's desk, the accursed object in front of him, letting off its light so bright Malik's eyes hurt.

"Malik," he said, not turning to face the other man. "It is late."

"So it is," Malik agreed. "You should be resting, not spending your time with this... thing."

"It is amazing," Altaïr said, not taking his eyes from the glowing device, hanging in mid-air. "With this, I can see-- I can learn _everything._ Know everything."

Malik stared, his expression narrowing. Everything, it would seem, except how much Altaïr was alienating himself from everyone and everything that really mattered.

"We had an appointment tonight," Malik reminded him, unceremoniously dumping the satchel onto the desk beside the other man. Altaïr tensed, his gaze slowly tearing from the Apple to the food Malik had brought him.

"Yes... we did." Altaïr sounded far-away, reaching slowly and untying the cloth, picking up a piece of flat bread inside. Malik had pressed and baked it himself. It would have been warm and delicious, had Altaïr shown up on time. "You shouldn't have troubled yourself."

"Clearly not," Malik said, his temper rising, volume rising with it. "You would rather spend your time, all day and night, consorting with this _thing_ than a person. Your own brother!"

Altaïr frowned, turning his gaze back to the Apple. He reached out and the glow quickly shrank away back inside, the Apple falling from suspension into his outstretched palm.

"Cool your temper, Malik," he said, tone stiff. "I am the master of this organization now. I have to make decisions that will change people's lives. I need to know as much as I can to keep any of our brothers from falling."

It was unsurprising that Malik didn't take kindly to being told to cool his temper. This, coupled with what could only be a roundabout reference to Kadar's death only served to rile him up further.

"Then by all means, _Master_ ," he spat, his eyes adjusting finely to the new dark, seeking out every crease and turn in Altaïr's features to read his face, "keep your eyes on whatever life you're finding there and ignore the _real_ life that is happening here and now!"

"What does it matter," Altaïr argued, and his voice didn't rise but Malik knew that _tone_ well, "what I do? History will be the same! It's all already been written!"

"Then tell me, Altaïr, should I bother inviting you to dinner again, or will you ignore my invitation next time as well?" Malik's fist was curled so tightly his hand was beginning to _hurt_ \- he thought he could feel that pain on the other side, too, but with his arm gone, it was just a phantom feeling which only served to heighten his emotions.

"Get out, Malik," Altaïr said, turning suddenly towards the desk. "I do not need the words of a man who has no mind for what must be done."

Malik laughed, then - a short, sudden bark of anger mixed with disbelief and indignation. "As you wish," he answered, turning towards the stairs. It was silent for a time, Malik poised at the top stair, Altaïr standing at the desk, unmoving, the Apple clenched in his hand.

Finally, "I am returning to Jerusalem." When there was no response, Malik continued. "Find me, when you are ready to see life again as it truly is, and not what this Apple says it will be."


End file.
